The Arkansaw traveler., 1887-06-25
Lost On The uOultail(.
BY MARIE B. WILLIAMS.

There had been much chatfing among the guests of the Galbraith hotel, in east Tennessee, about the ascent of Mount Short. The mountain frowned down on us, perpendicular, stony, destitute of paths, and clothed with trees and shrubs to the top, so that the climber might easily be led astray, and lost on the summit. It was not an isolated peak, but only the highest point on mountain ridge which stretched indefinitely eastward.
 The hotel guests, with stories ill their minds of people wandering in the mountains all night, and have their friends in the vally hunting for them with torches, and making night hideous with horn- blowing and shouts, determined that it was safest to make the ascent in large parties.
 "You'll join Us, won't you?" said my friend, Captain W, to me. "About ten of us are going up, and, as it's clear this morning, we shall have fine view. We're going to take lunch up there, and not come down until evening"
 "It's utterly impossible for me to go this morning." l said. "Pll join you this afternoon"
 of you can find us," he laughed "There arc twenty ways of climbing up, and how do you know you'll hit upon the one we chose. Up there it is trackless forest, and unless you happen to come directly upon us you'll be lost, sure"
 "I'll risk it." I answered.. 'I sup pose people can always scramble down mountain, if they don't happen to go up to the usual track"
 "You'rc very much mistaken. The coming down is more dangerous than the going up; and, in fact, when you're lost, you don't know whether you are ascending or descending. Pve climbed the mountain myself, so you'd better take my advice, and join our party" But that did not intend doing Nothing to me was more wearisome than the small talk in which people with diverse tastes, in search of the picturesque, are sure to indulge. presume l am of an unsocial turn; but much of my life has been spent in sol- itary communings with nature, and, from the force of old habit, an inap- propriate word, or even look, will destroy my enjoyment of the most beautiful landscape.
 l, however, thought that if was to go up the mountain alone, and get my impressions of it undisturbed until I reached the summit, might afford to descend 1t with my gay friends. I should have had my own secret hour of perfect enjoyment, which nothing could mar.
 About three o'clock in the afternoon, therefore, commenced the ascent. It was fatiguing and very tedious, as l stopped on every projecting ledge to get views of the valley. But, to my surprise, found it was completely hidden by the masses of foliage around me.
 But the flora of the mountain was beautiful. The soft, green tendrils of the maiden's-hair fern trailed over the ground, and hung in festoons owes the great gray powders. In gathering it and hunting choice specimens of the broad fronds of another fern, l pre- sume must have lost at least an hour if not more, and strayed far, not from the path, for there was none, but from the direction had been instructed to take.
 lost all care for the beauties of nature when l looked at my watch and saw how had fingered on the way. When I reached the summit the sun was sinking, and my heart sank too, for in that wilderness how could hope to find my friends?
 They had told me that they would be near the tall pine, landmark fol miles around. As I ascended, from time to time, caught glimpse of it but, now that had reached the level it was no longer visible among tht other trees.
 walked as rapidly as could il the direction I thought it might be shouting aloud at every step, but powders and underbrush arrested ma at every turn.
 Exhausted I paused and tried te collect my thoughts.
 It was now nearly six o'clock, and